


Yesterday of Slave

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:22:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crashed and broken, the computer Slave replays a memory of Avon and Tarrant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yesterday of Slave

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

The computer wasn't quite 'dead'. Energy surges brought flashes of memory, distorted, blurred, sound and images jumbled as it sought to cling to existence, in any way it could, for however many milliseconds it might.

Avon. Avon was the Master, the one most important being. Tarrant. Tarrant was the Pilot, the one who showed the way. Both were gone, or as good as gone... but not in Slave's memory.

Frantically ransacking bits and snatches of what had been, Slave hastily patched them together, and set the memory to run, to watch, to believe. So long as these two live, Slave will never be gone.

 

_Avon looked up from the console as Tarrant came to his side. Softly Tarrant said, "The others are asleep. We can talk."_

_"What is there to talk about?" Avon returned his gaze to the monitor in front of him._

_"You. Me. Us." Tarrant drew an audible breath. "Blake."_

_Avon's eyes glittered dangerously as he looked up. "What about Blake?"_

_Tarrant spread his hands. "I know I'm no competition for him. How could I be? The man's a damned legend. But I just wanted you to know that I understand. I won't get in the way."_

_Avon threw his head back and chuckled. "You think Blake and I were lovers."_

_"Weren't you?"_

_Avon shook his head and smiled. "I was never quite foolish enough."_

_"But you wanted to. That's why we're going to Gauda Prime, isn't it? So you can finally have your Blake?"_

_"No, that's not it at all." Avon sighed and turned to face Tarrant fully. "Blake has... I don't know what... but whatever it is, it seemed to work best when he was with me. I'd checked with Orac. Blake's greatest successes were when I was with him."_

_"When he had the Liberator, you mean."_

_Avon tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Yes. But what were the odds on him acquiring such a ship in the first place? Orac... postulated some insane theory about Fate or Luck or... well, it was dressed up scientifically, but Orac theorized that I was the catalyst that Blake needed. So, having had a notable lack of success on my own, I am going to join him. As a business partner, if you will. Nothing more than that."_

_"And what about me?"_

_Avon smiled. "I can always use a good pilot."_

_"Is that all you can use?" Tarrant unzipped his trousers._

_"Well... perhaps I might find other uses for you." Avon stood up, unzipped and turned, placing his hands on the console, well away from any controls._

_"Yes, you might." Tarrant retrieved the lube from Avon's jacket pocket. "Someone might wake," he said in Avon's ear as he stroked the lube into Avon's arse._

_Avon's breath caught, and his cock hardened in Tarrant's other hand. "Soolin?"_

_"Probably Dayna." Tarrant nibbled on Avon's ear. "She sleeps light. Like a predator."_

_Avon moaned. "Yes."_

_Tarrant slicked himself and mounted Avon, shoving in hard. "She'd never understand. She'd be so angry at both of us."_

_Avon moaned and moved his hips back into Tarrant's thrusts. "Oh, yes."_

_"But she wouldn't shoot us, oh, no." Tarrant pulled at Avon's cock as he worked hard, driving in and pulling out with all the strength of his lean, young muscles._

_"No?" Avon sounded dazed, but disappointed._

_"No, she likes primitive weapons... she made a whip, Avon. I saw it. Braided leather. Long and shiny."_

_Avon moaned._

_"She'd whip us, whip us until we howled like dogs!" Tarrant thrust harder, bit down on Avon's neck and came, muffling his noise with a mouthful of skin._

_"AH!" Avon yelped and came, shuddering, arms shaking, knees trembling._

_Tarrant let out a long sigh, and pulled out. He wiped and zipped himself up, and pretended not to watch as Avon restored his composure, and sat back down on the chair. "So, nothing will change for us?"_

_"Nothing." Avon waved at the monitor. "Get some sleep, Tarrant. We may need your skills for the landing."_

_Tarrant nodded. He reached forward and stroked a wayward lock of hair into place at Avon's nape. "You will always have my skills, Avon." He smiled and went back to a sleeping alcove._

 

Slave finished the memory, flickered once... and hoped...


End file.
